


the knights come riding two

by TheBlackWook



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hints of Beville (unrequited or not as you wish), M/M, Prompt Fic, siblings dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackWook/pseuds/TheBlackWook
Summary: Phil has imagined his first kiss ever since he’s been four and listening to his mother’s stories to put him and his siblings to sleep when the knight saved the princess in fairytales. And he loved fairytales.





	the knights come riding two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bevakashah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevakashah/gifts).

> This fic was a prompt (28. First Kiss) sent to me by my lovely friend bevakashah <3 ! Hope you enjoy it !

Phil has imagined his first kiss ever since he’s been four and listening to his mother’s stories to put him and his siblings to sleep. At that age, it’s wasn’t even anything specific in his head but merely an action that happened in fairytales when the knight saved the princess. And he loved fairytales. He loved imagining he was a knight in shining armour or a hero of some kind. Even when he had a football at his feet, following Gary’s every steps, or a cricket bat in his tiny hands- he thought about it. The ball became a horse and a spear at the same time, a goal would mean the dragon was defeated, while the bat would obviously become a sword he would swing left to right and right to left, barely failing to knock out anybody who was nearby. And at the end of each of his adventures, he would kiss the princess - a tiny, soft peck of lips against the cheek. He can’t count all the times he bribed Tracey into playing the princess for him in exchange of practicing netball with her. In hindsight, maybe that’s why she became the best out of the three of them.

When he’s ten and Gary proudly brings back home a worn out VHS of _Rocky_ from the video club, he understands that a kiss like the ones in fairytales can actually be given on the lips. Sure, he’s seen his parent kiss every now and then but he just assumed it was… _different_, somehow. And to be fair, it was a rather infrequent occurrence. Or maybe he just didn’t remember. But now that he’s looking at the boxer kissing Adrian he can’t help but feel both fascinated and disgusted. He half wants to try it but… He uses his lips to eat, right ? Then wouldn’t he feel all that went through someone’s mouth with a kiss ? That’s gross, he thinks. 

He does asks Tracey about it though, he always asks Tracey about things, Tracey always knows everything. She chuckles fondly, like she’s older than him or something and not his literal twin sister, and that’s how he learns he can’t really ask her to be the princess anymore, not if he intends to try this new kind of kiss. He pouts at the prospect, if Tracey can’t be the princess then, who is he going to save now ? Gary tells him not to worry while he ruffles his blonde hair: football and cricket are more important, anyway. Phil is not going to argue with that and jumps outside, having a kickabout with his brother.

The first time he really thinks he’s going to experience his first kiss, he’s in the cinema. He has asked one of Tracey’s friends out. She looks cute with her ginger hair pulled into a ponytail and her freckles and to Phil so far, that’s well enough of a reason to ask a girl out. Or so he assumes- girlfriends, boyfriends, love, this all sounds so very complicated to him. 

Still. He is quite proud of himself that he gathered the courage to ask that girl out on his own, no help whatsoever, and that she accepted. He has saved every penny he could find for months so he can bring her to the cinema. _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_, obviously. Of course he goes to see a film about the famous outlaw, not a knight but a hero nonetheless, one he has dressed up as a lot when he was younger. When the epic theme of the overture hits the theatre while the Bayeux tapestry is shown extensively on the big screen, he almost forgets he’s actually on a date. He grins and simply cannot wait to see how the film will retell the legend he still knows by heart. 

When Lady Marian appears on screen later on, he looks at Tracey’s friend - Gemma - and he thinks. From what he understood from the other boys at school and at practice, he should kiss her at some point - that’s apparently how dating works. Phil would have liked more input from Gary but his big brother is sixteen now and solely focused on football. So when he had learnt about his date, he had simply scoffed and said he was meeting with David for a run. 

(“He’s just jealous and lonely.” Tracey had tried to comfort him. As Phil got older he realised she probably had been right. Still, he remembered how disappointed he had been and anxious that Gary would not see him fit anymore to become a pro.)

He looks at Gemma, her ginger hair now auburn in the darkness of the room and he looks back at Robin and Lady Marian, entangled on a rope going back down on the ground. He feels this is it. The scene, the music, no one to laugh at them : this can’t get more romantic than that. He boldly grasps the girl’s hand with a sweaty palm and leans in. He really can see her face going closer from his and he closes his eyes, just like in the movies.

He waits. And he waits. But nothing comes. Until Gemma pulls her hand away, wipes it on her pullover like it’s full of dirt and pushes him gently back in his seat. She shakes her head, half pitying him and turns back towards the screen. 

The rest of the film is spent in awkward silence. He still buys her ice-cream at the end, though, following his mum’s advice, and waits until she’s on the bus to turn and leave. 

He walks (_runs_) home and he goes directly into his room, barely saying a word, and flopping onto his bed. He wants to cry but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at the fading wallpaper and vows that love, and kisses and girlfriends are really not worth it and too complicated. An hour passed, or maybe it was just five minutes but Gary comes in and ruffles his hair hair softly.

“Come on, stupid, let’s have a kickabout.” He says gentle and surprisingly soft. 

Football is simple. That Phil can do.

Gary still loves him and for a minute he forgets about his rejection.

Life goes on. Phil realises there are far more important things than being denied his first kiss at fourteen by some girl he didn’t even fancy that much. Football for instance, Manchester United more precisely. Always loyal in Gary’s shadow, he followed him at the academy, worked twice as hard to be noticed but especially to make his brother proud. And it’s not like Gary is going to let him go easy anyway. Training session here, morning runs there and extra gym session, that’s how daily life looks like for the both of them now. It’s not hard because Phil wants it just as much as Gary and he knows, he knows - sure and pure of heart - that all of this will be worth it, that it will lead him somewhere - _anywhere_, really (but preferably at United). 

It has to be.

That’s when he meets Paul. 

He has known him ever since Gary and him have played together but he was just that, then- Gary’s friend. Now that Phil’s with them at the academy, though, it’s different. He can’t really call them friends, he still has this little brother label hung around his neck, but they’re kind enough to him so that’ll do for now. There’s Becks, of course, flamboyant and a shining bright smile to die for - like the knights (he sees how Gary looks at this London wonderkid). There is Ryan and Nicky too, more than ready to have a laugh- Phil is kind of scared of them sometimes, afraid they’ll pull a prank on him. And then there’s Paul. Tiny, asthmatic Paul. Angry ginger Paul. Crazy talented Paul. Phil thinks he probably must have heard him talk thrice in his life and he already feels lucky.

(“To be fair, he addressed you way sooner than he did to us. I think he likes you.” Gary had said, half joking. 

Phil didn’t exactly know why but he had almost wanted his brother to be serious.)

He likes Paul. 

Not like _like_ (although Tracey has been quite annoying about this lately) but he connects more with the one they all call Scholesy. It’s in the the barely-there smiles Phil has learnt to recognise or the exaggerated rolling of his eyes at something naive the younger Neville said. It’s even in the little slaps on the shoulders when he does a good pass or a good run. It’s good to know someone other than his brother has his back. It feels good to be accepted properly in the team- painful towel initiation and kissing the mop included.

They’re all watching a movie on one of their few breaks when Phil thinks about his first kiss, or lack thereof, again. He doesn’t even know the name of the film but suddenly the big, strong hero kisses his love interest and some of the lads begin to talk about their own girls. The discussion soon derives towards girlfriends and kisses and relationships and sex like the bunch of horny and stupid teenagers they all are. They all listen to Giggsy telling them the best (gross if you ask Phil) ways to kiss a girl or the latest news about Dave and his new girlfriend. Phil pretends (like Gary) that it’s great and they’re women experts until they go back to training. 

(“Have you ever kissed a girl, Gaz ?” Phil asks on their way home, looking at his feet.

It’s raining and the pavement is wet and shining.

“Why ?” His brother answers, not looking away from the horizon.

“I’d like to know. I feel like I’m missing out.”

“You’re not. Tracey excluded, girls are stupid and gross and girlfriends are the worst. And anyway, they take away all your mates…”

Phil doesn’t ask more questions.)

But he still thinks of kisses- of a first kiss. It’s when he sees couples in the streets holding hands, or in the shows on the telly or even just the lads in the team talking about it. It’s in the stories he remembers his mum telling him about when he was just a kid. It’s everywhere in the fucking world and he constantly gets reminded he still hasn’t had anyone or just a single peck on his lips. He feels like the biggest idiot in the world for not having experienced what is apparently considered a milestone of teenagehood. 

And somehow he thinks about Paul. It happens when they play against the academy of City and he takes a hard blow, falling on the ground. Scholesy extends a hand to put him back up on his feet while glaring at the City players, probably plotting murder what with the stormy glint in his eyes (if Gary would stop yelling at them that is). He’s no knight, Phil thinks, but he wonders what it would feel like to kiss him all the same. He shakes his head. What the hell is he thinking ?

Still.

It happens again. And again. 

It happens when Phil has a rough training and is getting yelled at from everywhere and Paul just sticks close and waits for him once training is done. It happens when the ginger-haired boy comes in into that smelly old hotel room they’re staying at and offers him a sweet while Gary has left him all alone to spend the evening with David. 

(He almost hates David sometimes. But then he remembers Gemma, and Tracey’s words and he lets it go.)

Suddenly, even when he’s not with Paul he thinks about him. There are times when Phil wonders if he does because Scholesy is just being nice to him or if there is actually something more to it. He brings it all up with Tracey when she’s back from an England call up. They see each other less, and what with her going to Leeds to play, but he always goes to her, probably always will.

“How d’you know you fancy someone, Trace ?” He asks while they’re playing netball in the garden- more like Tracey trashing Phil. 

“How would I know ? It’s not like I have the time for this kind of thing.” She answers honestly.

“All three of us don’t have the time and yet, I’m pretty sure things happen. You always know these kind of things.” He almost snaps.

Tracey stops playing and throws the ball away. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean that.” He apologises, softer.

She sits next to him. It’s so strange how he can sense her thoughts in the silence except for the windy chill of the late summer evening. It’s awfully cold for the season. Above, there’s that unmistakable cloudy grey sky, raindrops waiting to fall, the same way someone could be on the verge of crying. Phil exhales and observes the faint steam escaping his mouth even when it has disappeared.

“We’re both really crap at this, uh.” Tracey reflects, hands in her pockets. 

And they laugh. And suddenly they’re five again, with no worries in the world than to play knights, do sports and listen to their parents. It’s carefree and Phil has missed this- maybe these weird scientific facts his biology teacher told him about twins back in year 9, are true. It just feels like the old times and at the moment everything is moving so fast that Phil is glad for the reminder of something strong and stable. 

“Trust your instincts and don’t change for someone, yeah ? You’re a good lad, Philly Nilly. That’s about the best thing I can tell you.” Tracey smiles at him, with a tender tone in her voice.

(he played knight, but she never played. She just was).

He nods and brings them back inside for dinner. Gary is surprisingly in a gay mood and it’s Phil’s favourite thing : all three of them, in Manchester, united.

There’s the game against Leicester soon. Their opponents are currently at the bottom of the league and there are some injuries in the first team. Phil knows it’s a hard stretch but he’s been doing good with the reserve lately, coach Harrison has given him positive feedback (which doesn’t happen a lot). So even though he knows there’s only a ten percent chance he could make it into the squad, he hopes. He’s livelier than usual, chirping all week long. If it annoys the lads, they don’t comment on it- except Scholesy’s scoffs and Gary trying to calm things down a bit.

He hopes. He hopes so much. 

Until they put the list on that wall. He sees Gary’s name, of course. And Paul’s- that was to be expected. But he doesn’t see his. 

Hopes crushed down, _kaboom_, thank you, goodnight. 

Phil probably stand there for hours, stoic, not quite believing it’s still not his time. Maybe if he stays longer, he thinks, his name will magically appear and this would have only been a joke from the older lads. But the paper doesn’t change, the black ink unmoving. He hates it- the paper, the ink, the folding lines still visible. 

He feels like an idiot. A powerless idiot. 

They’ve all made their debut already- except him. It’s always like this. He’s always left behind, he’s always late. For everything. He wants to scream, he wants to run, he wants to hit someone. 

He doesn’t do any of those things.

He stays put and burns the offending list in his memory instead, unable to tear his gaze away. He’s kind of a masochist, he discovers.

Gary finds him and it’s only when one of his hands touches one of Phil’s that the younger Neville realises he had put them into fists, his knuckles turned white. His big brother looks at him with a pained expression and the blonde hates it. He hates having to be, once again, _poor little Phil_, always in need to be consoled or looked after, always pitied. He pushes Gary’s arm away when he tries to wrap it around his shoulders and he storms out. 

He goes running around one of the fields, he punishes his body - _himself_ \- for not being good enough and intends on keeping that up until everything hurts and he can’t feel his damn legs. He likes running, it usually helps him to clear his head.

It’s night when he begins to tire himself out. Yet, he still insists on going on, it doesn’t hurt enough, his throat doesn’t burn enough. He sees large puffs of air coming right out of his mouth, it helps him focus. 

Suddenly, he sees a shadow behind him going straight to him. 

Scholesy. _Paul_.

The short teenager is now running beside him, breathing loudly. His face is getting redder and redder by the minute.

“Paul, what the fuck are you doing ? Your asthma !” Phil manages to say, breathless.

“You fucking weirdo. You’ve been at it for ages after the three trainings today; you’re gonna get injured. So what the fuck are YOU doing!” He replies, furious.

“I can’t stop.”

“Can’t or won’t ?”

“… Both. But-” Phil tries to explain.

“Jesus, Philip. Grow up and use your fucking brain ! You get injured now you throw away your chance.”

“Fine. But I can’t stop.”

“Wh- For christ’s sake, Nev-”

“No ! I just… Literally cannot stop. My legs are just going on and on.”

“… what the fuck…” Paul mutters, divided between feeling amazed or murderous.

Phil doesn’t really have time to register what happens that Paul has his hands on his shoulders, probably trying to stop him. However, although they’re not sure how, their feet make an entangled mess of sort and they fall on the wet grass in a loud thud.

The two teenagers are a mess of grunts and breaths until they stop moving altogether and silence falls between them. The cold grass tickles Phil’s hands but he’s not sure if he shivers because of that or because he realises he’s sprawled over Paul, his face resting on his chest. He does not dare move an inch, not because he wants to (although yes he has no desire moving from where he is, but that’s another thing), but mainly because his legs are failing him and partly because he’s not even sure what to do. Underneath him, he feels the slowing rhythm of Paul’s breathing, his stomach going up and down proving to lull him. He could have fallen asleep right on the spot- maybe running that much had not been such a great idea. 

“Take your time, Neville. It’s not like you’re preventing me from _breathing_ or something.”

“I can’t move. My legs are like jelly.”

“Oh. If only someone had warned you about that, you idiot, if only… Oh wait, actually I did and _you_ didn’t listen !” 

Phil moves his head up so now he can see Scholesy’s face, frowning like he knows how to. The blonde feels bold tonight and chuckles, not caring about the wrath that is sure coming his way. He has nothing to lose anyway.

“That makes you laugh, Philip ? You think it’s funny, uh ? Oh you just move and I’ll wipe that stupid grin off that silly mug of yours.” 

The younger Neville feels bolder still.

“Oh yeah ? And what if I don’t move ? How are you gonna do that ?” He asks smugly.

Paul’s answer surprises him and makes him freeze altogether. Suddenly, he feels the brush of lips- rough, dehydrated ones, ones that have exhaled large breaths of air and which the cold air have bitten with icy claws. Suddenly, he feels his shirt being grabbed in a fist, making sure he’ll stay right where he is and he shivers at the thought. Suddenly, this is happening, this is not a drill. 

He’s having his first kiss.

Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly…

Suddenly Phil just feels nothing but the wind upon his mouth and the sensation leaves him so quickly that he fears he has imagined it all, that it actually did not happened, that he fell asleep and dreamt.

But this can’t be. 

Paul’s fist is only letting go of his shirt and the ginger’s eyes are wide open in horror, realising just now what he has done. 

It definitely happened. Phil wants to pass his fingertips on his lips but he has a more urgent, burning question to ask first. 

“Why did you do that for ?”

Paul still has not moved, almost paralysed under the blonde-haired teen but his face has changed. Instead of shock, now he looks almost… embarrassed. Phil’s face falls, starting to think this kiss was a joke to his friend and he would burst out laughing at his expense any minute now. 

“Scholesy…” He pleads, desperately.

Still no answer and the fullback can’t take it anymore, this is the last straw of the day. He rolls off Paul and sits up, turning his back to him. His eyes sting and he bites his lip as hard as he can not to cry. 

They stay like that for a while until the younger Neville feels the urge to escape, to flee from him, to run home like he had done after Gemma and that date at the cinema. 

“This is stupid, I’m going home.” His voice breaks and wavers.

He stands up and goes to fetch his bag on the sidelines to leave. He was stupid to forget dating isn’t worth it for a minute. He feels humiliated and the feeling is only growing thinking of Gary trying to comfort him, _poor sweet, little Phil_, when he will inevitably pick up in his sour mood. Why can’t he be like the rest of teenagers; having a reciprocal crush, going to prom, being kissed- hell, even having messy short-lived sex ? 

There’s football, of course, and football means sacrifices, especially when you don’t have a natural talent like Becks. But still, that hasn’t stopped some of the lads of the team to have girlfriends, so why can’t he experience that too ?

The younger Neville is about to leave the pitch when his friend stops him:

“Phil, wait !” He cries, grabbing his wrist.

He wants to shake his hand off of him but Paul’s fist stays strongly put. 

“Don’t you think the joke has lasted enough ?” Phil asks affronted, trying his best to keep his eyes dry.

Scholes opens his mouth to say something but stops, his lips forming a perfect, round “o”.

That’s a first. Paul Scholes not looking totally in control. Phil is left bewildered and watches him, seemingly thinking about an appropriate response.

Instead, he goes for that :

“It’s not a joke.” He grumbles, half-muttering to the grass below.

The blonde looks at his friend with big eyes, so big they could roll out of their orbit soon. He must have misheard, that must be it. Paul Scholes, tiny, angry, likes-nobody Paul Scholes can’t actually be saying he kissed him and meant it. He can’t let him hope like that, it’s too cruel. Still, now Phil cannot get the idea out of his system and thinks of that brush of lips a few minutes ago and he needs to find out more, he needs to feel more, he needs more. 

“Can I kiss you, then ?” He blurts out, cursing himself silently for being so awkward.

“Uh… Yeah.” The ginger-haired teen replies, just as awkward.

So that’s it, then. This is the moment. The one he has imagined ever since he was a small kid listening to fairytales. Paul is no knight but he kind of is in fact, in his own special, personal way. 

The blonde takes an hesitant step towards the smaller man and he gulps. Tracey was right- as always: he really is crap at this. But practice makes perfect- that’s how the saying goes, right ? Maybe he can remember how kissing goes in the latest movies he has watched to guide him.

Phil cups Paul’s face in one humid hand and use the other one to lift his friend’s chin to be levelled with him. He gulps again and licks his lips. He’s really going to do this, this is really happening. Part of him is still terrified a hidden camera will appear out of nowhere and reveal he has been pranked. Or maybe Paul has changed his mind, which would actually be even worse. The blonde is still hesitating, inches from the ginger teen’s mouth, until he hears his friend sigh and grouses. 

And suddenly they are kissing again. Lips firmly placed onto one another. Just that, nothing less, nothing more. 

It’s wet. More so than their first try earlier. It’s soft but strong too, Scholes having fisted his hands into Phil’s shirt again, near his waist this time, making sure to keep him right in place. He’s not going anywhere. He doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon, Phil has forgotten all about fleeing home. 

The kiss lasts longer than the first one, enough for the sensation to remain almost palpable, permanent on their mouths, but not enough to make them breathless- they’re not there quite yet. Their eyes flutter open and they don’t say a word. Paul has the faintest trace of a smile on his face and that’s enough for Phil. He grins and feels his cheeks burning red at the same time. 

It’s okay. Life is good, he can have that. 

“Let’s get you home, Phil.” Paul says while rolling his eyes, forcing them to move and break out of their reverie. 

He’s no knight, Phil thinks again. But his armour shines all the same to him. And maybe, just maybe, they can try to shine together.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts on [tumblr](fillipoinzaghi.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
